Sky Dance
by December Writing Dragon
Summary: Though superb in the air, when Alfred loses a beloved trinket on the night of a storm, Ivan refuses to let his own limitations stop him from helping Alfred, even if his wings are not up for this kind of trial. RusAme / AmeRus Wingtalia AU.


**Sky Dance**

Blinding blue and vibrant gold. Those marked the raucous flights of Alfred Jones each time he soared through near-cloudless skies, always announcing his flight with echoing cheers of excitement. Though a life of rushing wind and sweeping arcs had been his for ages, each flight always brought him great excitement. _Pace yourself, Jones_ Arthur had always instructed him, seeing early on that Alfred wanted to fly as soon as could be- sooner than was recommended. But Alfred had not; his wings had always been able to handle more strain than most, and always seemed to yearn to try their strength more and more. And so they had flourished, becoming expansive feathery creations that rivaled the sun.

Ivan had been more cautious, heeding the advice of his older sister and the demands of his younger sister to be careful, to do everything by the book, to never put himself into a position where he could get hurt, what would they do if he got seriously injured? And so he maintained a cautious approach for their sake. He paced himself and built up his strength slowly. It meant for a natural endurance that would someday do him great service to have, but it also meant the development of his wings was slower than Alfred's, and their impressive thickness and potential was not reflected in their span.

Alfred was somewhat gracious about it, though even when he did not mean to tease Ivan took offense to when Alfred would stretch, wings at their full width, fluttering and twitching slightly as he worked out the kinks in his muscles. It was a blow to Ivan's ego and desires every time he felt a gush of air puff out around Alfred as the latter took flight, like a small, smiling golden sun come to shine his rays upon him, but always out of reach. But what good was the sun if Ivan could not feel its warmth?

"Mmmm…yours are so much softer," Alfred sighed, his cheek following behind the path his hands traced along Ivan's platinum wings. Alfred rubbed his face into the remarkably thick, soft, fluffy down, beaming appreciatively. Ivan's wing twitched beneath Alfred's touches, the unoccupied one swishing as if in flight. Ivan watched, eyebrows raised at Alfred's display. This was nothing new, Alfred's open fascination and fondness for Ivan's wings, his own being expansive but a bit less full.

Ivan adjusted the scarf around his neck, cheeks warm, smiling in spite of himself. Humbling though it may be, Alfred's presence was something he would never turn down, no matter how aware it made him feel.

"Hey," Alfred said behind pale snowy feathers. "I'm going to catch a final flight before the storm hits, see if Francis has any baked goodies for us. Wanna come with?"

Tempting though it was, Ivan shook his head. "Someone needs to make dinner in case Francis decides he does not want to feed us constantly."

Alfred let out a bark of laughter, waving away Ivan's statement with a flick of the hand. "Who would let these faces starve?" he asked, leaning his beside Ivan's and squeezing Ivan's cheeks. He was rewarded with a smack upside the head. "Alright, alright, I'm leaving before I'm abused even more. See you in just a bit."

"Be quick!" Ivan reminded him, able to smell the impending downpour in the air.

Alfred nodded. He slipped off his dog tags and slid them in his pocket; they were his lucky charms for flight, but he had always been concerned they might catch onto something and injure his neck. Stealing a quick kiss, Alfred waved. With a great whoop, Alfred bounded off the cliff, allowing himself to fall into a dive before being carried up, up, out away from the jagged mountainside and across the valley, cheering all the way. Ivan shook his head, glad Alfred could not see the smile he was unable to fight down.

0o0o0

Clouds already blanketed the sky, sealed away the sun's rays- but not its warmth- by the time Alfred could be seen fluttering home. Ivan watched with relief as Alfred drew near, a dark honey-colored mass swooping up and down in the quickening winds. Had he been much longer, Ivan would have set off to call him back, already feeling ready for a bit of a journey after an hour of flight practice and exercises.

"Miss me?" was Alfred's first statement upon landing with a huff, treading a few extra paces as he regained his footing.

"Was hoping you would stay there overnight," Ivan said dryly, fluttering down from their home. Alfred smiled, as if bestowed with the highest compliment, extending a hand as Ivan too landed. It was with their fingers laced, wingers brushing with tentative touches, that they entered their home for dinner.

Silverware clinked against glass plates as they ate, Alfred catching Ivan up on Francis and Arthur's latest argument (flower meanings). It was as he rummaged through his pocket to show Ivan the tulip seeds they'd gifted when Alfred stiffened, eyes widening.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no…no, it was here! I know I…oh no," he moaned, patting his pockets in mounting alarm.

"Alfred, what is it?"

"My dog tags," Alfred said, voice cracking, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. "They're gone…I don't know how, this nev-" He broke off, staring into nothing with dawning realization. "There's a hole," he breathed, feeling the tear in his pocket. "They fell out of the hole…aw, no…" He burrowed his head in his hands, shoulders sagging.

Alfred proved to be inconsolable, head bowed through the rest of dinner, shaking his head in incredulous dismay, sighing and never voicing more than a grunt or two. Ivan suggested they look after the storm, retrace Alfred's path with a group and carefully scour the area; Francis did not live terribly far by flight. Alfred shrugged, nodding weakly, but adding that they might be washed away by then, and who knew what the elements would do to them.

Ivan frowned, watching this sad display, mind made up with every soft despondent sigh that escaped Alfred. The glow of his entire being dimmed. Ivan knew what he had to do.

"Coming?" Alfred mumbled as he traipsed upstairs to ready himself for bed, knowing sleep would not come easily.

"Soon," Ivan said, not looking at him. Alfred grunted, heading off.

And so did Ivan.

0o0o0

The winds had picked up since they had been outside last, darkness falling early beneath the thick layer of dark grey coating the sky above. Cool droplets of rain fell against Ivan's skin, though for the moment it was light enough to only be an annoyance rather than a serious inconvenience. But he knew he needed to act quickly; he needed the light and he couldn't let his feathers get too weighted down by the water. Before he could even think out a plan, before Ivan could even decide he was going through with this, he leapt from the ledge, falling immediately into a glide rather than let himself drift as Alfred had done. The wind was cool against his face, stinging his cheeks as the rain felt like little pinpricks poked into his skin. Ivan kept his head bowed against the rain, eyes roving the dampened ground.

Teeth grit, he allowed himself to descent slowly, wings spread as far as they could go, parallel to the ground Ivan seemed to be skating over. With a great heave, he flapped up higher, needing more air. His exercises from earlier had been good; he felt at least somewhat prepared and up for the maneuvers he would need to do this right. He checked grass and rock, bush and path, house and sign, watching, always watching for a glint of silver. The wind howled around him, thunder sounding in the distance. He was soaked through, wings needing to work harder than ever to keep him up off the ground so he could take full advantage of a bird's eye view. He panted, letting himself glide for a few moments before needing to push doubly hard to ascend once more. At last, shivering, exhausted, every muscle of his wings screaming in protest, Ivan caught sight of something glinting amongst the barren branches of a tree. He swooped, heart soaring right with him as he saw a chain and knew he found his prize. With the invigoration born from his triumph, Ivan swooped, body twisting through the air, toes pointed, arm outstretched, snatching the dog tags in one fluid motion. He felt a delighted laughter bubble from his chest, clutching the chain as if it were his lifeline.

The creaking of trees accompanied the great torrent of wind and rain, and Ivan felt sure his blood was freezing. Shuddering, arms folded against his chest, wings wanting nothing more than to do the same, he pushed, pushed, pushed himself to make the flight home. The wind buffeted against him, rain soaking him to the bone, his own shivering burdening his course through the air. With a moan, a particularly hard blast of wind caught him under the wings, knocking him right off course. Cruelly, the sounds of the air almost sounded like his dear Alfred calling his name, mocking him with what he wanted most. Through the air he was thrown, arms held protectively over his face as branches whipped at his head, chest, limbs, wings. With a cry, he felt a few sharp branches scrape against his feathers, pulling and tearing at down and skin alike. The breath was knocked from him as his body connected with a hard surface, back ringing with the sting of stone against bone. Ivan's broken cry was drowned out as he descended, wings fluttering helplessly, too weighed down to prevent his bodily fall, the cliffside scraping against his bruised skin and battered wings. His name continued to sound from above.

He landed in a wet and defeated heap at the foot of the cliff, his own shivering causing his body to ache in protest, though he was too pained to seek shelter. The sound of his name drew closer with the coming darkness.

Distantly, Ivan was aware of some warmth beside him, barely warmer than he was but enough to feel like a wonderful hearth of glowing assurance. He clung close and so did his newfound sun though no light radiated around him. The wind and rain continued, but he was being dragged carefully, tenderly through it, navigated with a care he had not known as he was slammed to and fro through trees and against rock. He heard someone's breath hitch when he tried moving a certain way. His own. That was his own pained voice, his own body stinging in protest, tender, broken, sore, worn.

His sun spoke in a warm voice, gently caressing him, careful as always as he was guided up, guided away, guided home. The wooziness and enshrouding dark did not subside, nor did his sun's concern. Strong wings of scraggly golden feathers wrapped protectively around Ivan, providing a renewed blanket of heat and protection that only tripled when he was led inside. The world tipped as he was laid onto a bed, hissing in anguish before he could stop himself. He couldn't show such emotions now. What if Alfred found out?

The carefulness with which he was handled continued. The soaking wet clothes clinging to his clammy flesh were peeled away and replaced by new, dry ones, but not before he was slowly and meticulously toweled off. Ivan gasped at how warm the hands of his sun…his Alfred…felt against his skin, as Alfred tried to rub some heat back through his veins. Violet eyes squinted up into blue, vision blurring and refocusing as Alfred worked and worked, inspecting Ivan's wings that lay uselessly at his side. The slightest movement made them feel like lead.

"Ah!" His voice sounded especially hoarse even to his own ears when Alfred carefully straightened his right wing, the hollow bones feeling like they had been snapped. Alfred's warm hand ghosted apologetically against his cheek as he carefully separated his feathers to clear where he had been cut. Feeling more aware of himself, Ivan grit his teeth and swallowed any noises of pain while Alfred took care of him, now warmed not just by the air and Alfred's body, but by his own stubborn wounded pride, indignant that he should let such signs of weakness slip by.

It would be wrong to say Alfred's persistent preening meant he paid Ivan's discomfort no notice, quite the opposite. As he tended to him, Alfred would murmur comforting nothings to the man before him, fingertips rubbing reassuring paths over his warmed skin, careful to avoid where he had been cut or bruised. Wounds were disinfected, bandages were carefully wrapped, and soon Alfred was staring down at Ivan with a deep frown. Such a sight was uncommon on the normally easygoing man.

"Why?" There was an uncharacteristic somber timbre to Alfred's tone.

Ivan blinked up at him. "Had to find your dog tags," he said simply, sure that should have been obvious.

Alfred shook his head, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in his eyes, from sapphire worry, navy frustration, turquoise gratefulness, to azure love. "Ivan, in this _storm_?" he asked weakly.

Ivan nodded.

Ivan's unconcernedness did nothing to ease Alfred's worry. "You're an idiot, I hope you know that," he snapped. "You say you'll be right behind me, you don't come up for ages, you're nowhere in the house or on the cliff, the storm is getting worse and worse-" He cut himself off, taking a deep, steadying breath. For all his efforts, Alfred's shoulders continued to shake slightly. "I thought…I almost lost you."

Ivan managed a tired smile. "No. Not rid of me yet," he assured.

Alfred laughed shakily, kissing the tip of Ivan's protuberant nose. "Yeah, so you can keep worrying and annoying me. Damn. Thought I caught a break." It didn't relieve any of the ache his heart had endured when he remembered Ivan so hurt, or the fear freezing his blood when he couldn't find him, but for the moment Alfred let himself be glad they simply were together to do this.

And maybe some small part of him felt Ivan was punished enough by the horrid aches wracking his body the next day, though even that was offset by Alfred's zealous doting. In their own dysfunctional way, they both still won.

THE END

Based on Wingtalia artwork by fynniona on tumblr and the prompt line "I almost lost you."


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